


Living The Tennis Life

by Loverer



Series: Living The Tennis Life [1]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-03-27 11:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13880001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loverer/pseuds/Loverer
Summary: Rafa's injured and annoyed and something Roger does annoys him even more





	1. Venting out

The pain shot through him as he felt himself stir awake. He winced as he turned. He cracked open an eye but the harsh glow of the light made him shut it again. He tried sitting up but it was no use. No use right now. When it hurt, it just plain and simple hurt. 

He cursed under his breath, eyes still closed, and flung his hand to the nightstand in an effort to find the bottle of painkillers. His hand grabbed at the air a few times before finally stumbling on something which felt like plastic. He grabbed it and hauled himself up into a sitting position, almost screaming at the strain that put on his already injured hip. 

He forced his eyes open and grabbed the bottle of water with the other hand. His hands trembled as he opened the bottle, took the pills out and swallowed them. The moment he had swallowed the pills, he allowed himself to go limp. His eyes screwed shut against what felt like a huge screw drilling through his hip. 

Sleep was clearly not going to come. So he didn't bother trying. Instead he waited patiently for the pills to kick in. Some twenty minutes later, the pain dimmed ever so slightly. Just enough to lift the fog that shrouded his thoughts earlier. Just enough to allow him the privilege of thinking something other than the pain itself. Just enough for the bitterness to flow back in. 

Rafa groaned as he moved to get his phone from the nightstand. Many texts. From various people. Media. Mangers. Relatives. Many from Roger too. The first text was sent after the Laureas Awards nigh, only a few days ago. The last one was sent just a few hours ago. 

‘Raf I wish you were here too! I'm missing you! Love you so much!’

‘I think you deserve the second award more Rafa. This one's for you baby.’

‘Rafa you pulled out Acapulco?? What did the docs say, the hip will be fine right? Why is it taking so long to heal?’

‘Raf I'm really worried, please text me back. Are you just taking some more time to rehab or is the hip getting worse?’

‘You pulled out of IW and Miami too? Raf I know you must be upset and disappointed but please at least text me back baby please. I need to talk to you’

‘Raf it's been so long now please talk to me. Are you upset with me? Did I say something wrong?’

‘Raf I love you’

‘Rafa seriously are you fine? I'm getting scared now. You're not picking up calls. Your team says you don't want to talk to anyone. Just once text me back. I'll stop bothering you I promise. I'm just feeling really scared now.’ 

Rafa scrolled through them again. He had read them all already. But he read them again anyway. He couldn't stop the tear that rolled down his cheek. Neither could he stop his gut twisting some more at every ‘please’ that he read. And he certainly was finding it incredibly hard to contain the urge to write back. It was an itch that had only gotten worse with time. To write back to his pleading lover. To write back to him and assure him he was okay. To write back and tell him he loves him too. But he was angry and so he wasn’t going to write back.

The phone vibrated in his hand. It was Roger. For the millionth time. Rafa was getting tired of ignoring his calls now, it hurt too much. He pressed answer and put the phone to his ear, wincing at the shift of weight. 

“Hola Roger”

“Rafa! Oh my god, thank goodness you picked up. Where are you? Why aren’t you answering me? How are you feeling now Raf?”

Rafa sighed, “I’m fine, no?” He was aware he was sounding a bit disinterested, although that wasn’t exactly the case. It was more annoyance than disinterest.

“Raf, I know this is a big thing. But don’t take so much stress please. Just focus on your rehab and you’ll recover. You always come back stronger. I know you do”

“Yeah”

“Raf, why wouldn’t you text me? I was beginning to feel scared. Are you sure there is nothing else?”

“I say I’m fine no, Roger?” he snapped.

“Okay, now I know you’re definitely not fine. What is it Rafi? Is it just because of the hip? What are the doctors saying, it can’t be too serious surely?”

“Is better if we not talk about my injury. I have team to talk about it.”

“I was just worried Raf, that’s all. I didn’t mean to be nosy” Roger’s tone was soft

“You worry huh?” 

“Raf why you being so cold with me? What have I done? I was just asking because I love you and I care for you”

“You care so much that you use my injury to plan a second Roland Garros, no?” He winced the moment it was out, regretting the bitterness that reeked in those words. The accusation.

“What?” There was confusion in Roger’s tone. Genuine confusion. And Rafa regretted it even more. 

“Nothing. Forget it. Sleep. Bye”

“No, wait. What about Roland Garros, and what do you mean use your injury?”

“Nothing okay? Forget it.”

“No I need to know this now. What do you mean?”

“You say at some press conference few days ago no? That you dream of coming back to Roland Garros. The whole media, everyone, say you hint at return to this year’s Roland Garros.”

“Um… I’m sorry if I’m acting thick but what does that have anything to do with your injury”

“You knew how badly injured I was! Even before I pull out of Acapulco because I always tell you so much about my health. If I injured, RG a good chance for you now, no?”

There was some silence on the other end. Rafa could almost imagine Roger’s look of shock. 

“Seriously? You think I’m using what I know about your health to plan my own schedule? That I might go for the French now just because you’re all injured? You think I’m jumping at the opportunity of you being unwell?” Rafa could hear the disbelief and sting in Roger’s voice.

“Well I don’t know, no?” 

“I can’t believe you’re saying this, I didn’t even mean anything when I said it, how can you even- actually, you know what, fine. If that’s what you think, I won’t bother you anymore.”

“yeah fine”

He hangs up and tosses the phone on the bed. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. God knows where this will go now.

He sighs and closes his eyes. Firstly he is injured. Secondly, he can’t play for who knows how long. And thirdly, he has managed to accuse the one person in this world who is always by his side of taking advantage of inner information for achieving own ends. Yes, Roger had known Rafa was going through a really rough patch health-wise. Yes, they had been together so much since Rotterdam that it was obvious to Roger how bad it really was. Yes, Roger had always wanted a second Roland Garros. But even Rafa knew deep down, that Roger wasn’t so cheap as to use the information he gained about Rafa’s health during their stay together, as a couple, to then plan out his own tennis strategies moving forward. Roger would never do that. Rafa knew it. It was an irrational thought and it just served as the perfect opportunity to vent out his frustration. It wasn’t really aimed at Roger, he just happened to be there. 

He slid down under the covers and closed his eyes.

It was just a bad time for him, he guessed, where everything was working against him. Even his own mind.

Fuck life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just me trying to capture an impromptu idea really. As of now, it's a one shot, created because I couldn't resist the opportunity of Roger talking about RG at the same time as Rafa pulling out of planned tournaments. But I suppose it could become a mini series with time :)
> 
> Comments are always welcome! XD
> 
> xx


	2. A Not-So-Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, 
> 
> So I was going to wait until some proper news about Rafa came. But then I thought, why wait? Life goes on even beyond the news and media and whatnot. So this little thing is just a fluffy piece of nothingness.
> 
> Hope you like it and pls do let me know! XD  
> xx
> 
> I forgot to add the Disclaimer earlier:  
> This is a figment of my imagination and is not true; hence the word fiction!

The cereal was chewy. The milk was too cold. The breakfast bar was too high. The bar stool was too low. Everything was just bad. 

Rafa was aware he was sulking. It was so unlike him to sulk but there you go. He was doing it anyway. Everything felt stupid and wrong and just bad. 

He needed some cheering up, and he would never admit it, but if Roger had been around right now, he'd have known exactly how. Roger knew him better than he knew himself. 

He stuffed another spoonful of cereal into his mouth and made a face at how disgusting it tasted. He dropped the spoon back into the bowl with a clink and stared at it, attempting to chew on his mouthful. 

The fact that Roger had really not texted or called him back after he had snapped at him actually stung a bit. In the moment, he had actually wanted Roger to leave him alone. Now he wanted him to persue him. Both was wrong, he knew. He knew he had brought it onto himself by accusing Roger like that but at least he could've called to see how he was getting on with rehab or something. Then again, the injury was the hinge of the entire argument, so not a big wonder if Roger doesn't ask about his injury anymore. It was kind of mean to expect so much from Roger but he couldn't help feeling this way. He was just missing Roger. End of story. 

After some more staring, he looked up from the bowl when he heard the bell ring. No one was at home and so the task of answering the door weighed on him. He wouldn't care if it weren't for his dysfunctional hip; walking around was a lot of effort these days. Still it wasn't so bad. He limped to the door and opened it. Of course, a post man with a parcel. Who else could it be? He smiled at the star-struck postman, signed and took the parcel. Then he gave a quick autograph to the postman too; he seemed too nice to say no to. 

He put the parcel on the near-by shelf. It was probably some fan who managed to find his address; he can open it later. 

\---

Rafa had had the most boring day ever. Roger still hadn't texted and he couldn't blame him, none of his friends had come around today like they usually did because everyone was busy and he wasn't allowed to get out of the house for a few days still. Mostly he had company but today he had found himself pretty lonely. He had gone through four movies, two pizzas (diet was out of the window) and a dozen pages of some crappy book he had been reading past few days. It was Friday, the supposed-to-be most fun day of the week and here he was doing nothing. Eventually, he just gave up and decided to have an early night. He headed for his bedroom and picked up the parcel from earlier on the way; he had nothing to do, might as well check it out. 

He flopped on his bed, grimacing as his hip made itself known, and made himself comfortable before opening it. It was an odd parcel to come from a fan. Usually they had red or pink or hearts wrapping paper with golden or silver ribbons or designs. This one was wrapped in a plain khaki paper with a single tape binding it together. He opened it and, to his delight, found a box of chocolates inside. Perfect way to end the day. It was accompanied by a post card too. He read the post card as he fiddled with the box with the other hand. 

'It really doesn't matter where we meet, when we meet and how we meet, as long as we meet.  
It really doesn't matter whether I win or you win, as long as we play.  
It really doesn't matter whether you snap or I snap, as long as we patch up.

Get well soon Rafa, I miss you.  
Love,  
A fan'

He flipped the card over to see the picture. It was, unsurprisingly enough, the 2008 Wimbledon trophy presentation. Roger with his silver plate and Rafa with the trophy. 

Then he looked at the box of chocolates again. Again, unsurprisingly, it was a box of Lindt chocolates. 

He looked closely at the hand-writing on the post-card. Unmistakably, Roger's.

And Rafa didn't know whether to cry, smile or eat the chocolates. He decided to smile first, then cry and eat the chocolate as he cried. So he opened the box, still crying, and ate the mini chocolate balls. His favourite flavour of the Lindt collection - the chocolate truffle

He felt terrible and happy at the same time. Terrible because well, he had been pretty mean to Roger the other day. And happy, that Roger had taken the initiative to patch up leaving his pride out of it. Rafa knew he would be the happiest person on this planet if Roger won another French and Roger had all the right to go for it if he so wished to. He also knew that, as the picture on the post card very subtly suggested, some of Roger's own worst losses had come from none other than himself. Had Roger allowed bitterness in his own mind about that, their relationship would’ve been over even before it began. And he also knew that they had an unspoken, mutual agreement to not bring their wins and losses into their personal lives. Because tennis was going to stop one day. Their relationship wasn't.

He picked up his phone and pursed his lips - to call or to text? To text, he decided.

'You are stupid, dumb and bit too romantic. But the chocolates were nice.  
Love,  
A bigger fan'

He pressed send and put the phone away. There wasn’t a need for a spelled-out apology in their relationship – an initiative and an equal response was enough for both of them, regardless of whose fault it was. And just that alone said more than mere ‘sorrys’ and ‘thank-yous’ could ever say. It showed a mutual understanding on both their parts and he loved it that way.  


He had another chocolate as he switched on the telly and snuggled into the bed. He felt himself drifting off into a sweet slumber and it was a nice feeling. Maybe it wasn't as bad a day after all.


	3. Different Vibes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, two things happened: one, Roger recently said there were different vibes in the tournament without the other top guys like Rafa around; and two, Rafa recently posted a small clip of himself swimming as an update on his recovery. 
> 
> What better way than to combine the two things into a story ;)
> 
> Oh and this one's a Roger pov!
> 
> Hope you like it and do let me know, comments are always welcome! XD
> 
> xx

It was true. There were different vibes when everyone else was missing. Especially when Rafa was missing. It had become a habit over the years to see Rafa around. Even before they got together, the fleeting smiles and nods of acknowledgement as they passed in the corridors were somewhat comforting to Roger. He was too humble to ever admit this to anyone but himself, but having Rafa around made him feel less lonely. It had always irked him how almost every other person on the tour treated him like a demigod, like an alien, like someone who was something else. Rafa, however, never did that. He treated him as an equal and Roger was ever-grateful for that. And soon enough, he and Rafa had a league of their own. And that was fine with him - two was less lonely than one. That is how they evolved – in the presence of the other, in competition with the other and later in love with the other. This time though, Rafa wasn't even on the tour. He wasn't on the practice courts. He wasn't in the lockers. He wasn't next to him when he woke up in the mornings. Rafa was nowhere. And it just felt different. 

Exactly a year ago, the fourth round saw him battle it out with Rafa on that same centre court; in the yellow haze of the evening sun, he had watched the florescent-shirted Rafa leap and run around the purple ground with a mixture of competiveness and joy. Playing together was always special for the both of them – they almost lived for those rare moments. Last year had provided plenty of them. This year, not even one.

He had friends here, of course. Tommy was the tournament director who made sure to catch up with Roger every now and then. Then there were the younger guys who looked at him in a manner that approached idolatry. There was also the pending matches and a possible final with Del Potro. There was so much happening all around and in his own life. But there was no Rafa. He was a week and a bit into being away from Rafa now and a steady stream of grimness had seeped into his mind. He wasn’t snappy or sad or grumpy. He was just not bothered. He could not be bothered doing half the things he usually did. 

Roger splashed his face with cold water and allowed it to chill him. The cold was comforting. He looked up into the mirror. His own unshaven face stared back. That was another thing he could be bothered doing – shaving. Last week he had picked up the razor to shave. Then he had put it down again. Somehow staying unshaven reminded him of Rafa. 

Rafa always preferred him clean shaved because Roger’s stubble tickled him. Roger loved to tease him every now and then with it though. He would swipe his cheek over Rafa’s side and hear him burst into a fit of giggles, trying hard to squirm away. Or he would kiss him deep and hard, only to allow his stubble to rub against Rafa’s lips and make them look even more swollen. 

But mostly, he would shave every day. Because Rafa liked that better. There wasn't any need nowadays though. Everything felt different and odd and strange. So he let his own look reflect the difference. Every time he looked into the mirror he was reminded of Rafa and he liked it, in some odd way. 

He flopped down on the bed, getting in the covers. He took his phone and scrolled through his feed. It was flooding with photos from the match, his own backhands and forehands frozen in various angles, the interviews, the entire hype. So much. Too much. Sometimes it was all just too much and he yearned to get away from it all. It was in times like these that he looked forward to the prospect of retirement. He loved his time in the limelight, on the court, doing what he does best, but sometimes he craved a solace that wasn’t found here. He looked forward to a time when he would be alone with Rafa: a distant but almost certain eventuality now.

He scrolled through some more and almost missed the little video of Rafa. It was from Instagram, updated only a few hours ago. It wasn’t big, it had no words, it was just a single shot of Rafa swimming up to the camera and then flashing a goofy grin with a thumbs up. It was short and simple and sweet. Rafa was swimming and that was good news. And really, what else could he ask for right now? And Roger was so overwhelmed by seeing Rafa finally happy and, by the looks of it, on the way to a full recovery, that he couldn’t stop the moisture clouding his vision.

It was midnight so it would be morning in Europe. He took his phone out and called.

“Hola” Rafa’s voice was hoarse from sleep.

“Aw, baby, I thought you must be awake by now”

“No, yeah, I awake no?” He was clearly not, if his hoarse voice and the much thicker accent was anything to go by.

“Hm, I can see that. Hey you want me to call you later?”

“No no, I awake I awake!”

“Okay okay fine. So how are you, you watch the match?”

“Si, why you think I am sleeping still?”

Roger chuckled, of course, how could Rafa miss his match? “So what did you think?”

“Hm, you could finish first set earlier no? 7-5 is okay, not great”

“Hey! The second set I won 6-1, that not good enough?”

“Si,” Rafa grinned, “poor Chung no?”

“Yeah, but he’s good. I think he’s got a great future”

“Hm, Novak 2.0?”

“Possibly, depends how much he puts in it really. We had to put a lot to get here, people don’t often realise that. Talent isn’t everything.”

“Si…” Rafa sounded like he was contemplating. When he didn’t say anything for a few seconds, Roger spoke again.

“What is it, babe?”

“I just think how you always say ‘we’, we are different from them no?”

Roger smiled at the observation, he hadn’t noticed it but it was true. Both of them often referred to themselves as ‘we’ instead of ‘I’. 

“I suppose we are different.” He heard Rafa smile on the other end, “Raf?”

“Hm?”

“You’re feeling better yeah? You will be back soon right?”

“Si. I’m better, getting there.”

“I am so happy to hear that baby. I want you to recover as soon as possible. I really do.”

“I know Rog, I know”

There was another silence and both of them knew they were thinking about their argument only a few days ago over this very topic. Rafa decided to change the subject though. He didn’t want to think of the bad stuff right now. His own insecurities, should they continue, can be dealt with later. Right now, he could almost hear the exhaustion, both emotional and physical, screaming from Roger’s tired voice. Roger could do with some happy conversations right now.

“You see my video?” He dug up some fresh enthusiasm and made an effort to shake off the haze of sleep from his tone.

“I did.” The topic change didn’t go unnoticed by Roger but he knew better than to ask more about the injury. He was just going to take Rafa’s word for it and try not worry too much about it himself – easier said than done, but he was going to try.

“How did I look?”

“You looked adorable, with the orange cap”

Rafa pulled a face and Roger could almost hear it. Adorable wasn’t the word he was hoping to hear, he knew that.

“What?” Roger asked, all innocent.

“Adorable?”

“Yeah you were looking it, hardly my fault. You looked like a little baby with the swimming cap and the grin in the end. Why, you thought I was going to say something different?”

“Si! I thought you would give a better compliment no? Not a baby one”

“Yeah? Well maybe you should come here then, then I’ll give you a better compliment”

“Hm what you say if I am there?”

“I don’t know, something like… You’re adorable?” Roger burst out into a fit of giggles, he was impressed with himself at how easily he could ruin the mood.

“Roger, I hate you so much!” Rafa almost yelled but his tone was laced with humour and soon enough he was giggling too. 

Here, laughing and giggling like a child with Rafa, he felt all the stress and anxiety and grimness drain from his system. These positive vibes he got from talking to Rafa were the ones he loved the most. And these were the vibes that were missing the most from this tournament. 

It was just different without Rafa. Still, phones were wonderfully handy things, he reckoned.


	4. Some Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks, 
> 
> First of all, it was agony watching the IW finals yesterday. :(( Roger looked heart-broken and Rafa's not been great either. All in all, a rather sad time Fedal fans. Anyways, I hope this fic does something to cheer us up.
> 
> I don't know if this is slipping into AU territory (how do you define AU???) because you might find a few things to be a tad unrealistic for a real life setting. I agree, they are unrealistic - but I wanted a happy fic somehow, and this was the only way.
> 
> This is the last chapter of the first part of the series. The second part could come, depends on how things go in the tennis world :)
> 
> Thanks for all your lovely comments so far!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, and do let me know what you think!! XD
> 
> xx

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that he had not one, not two but many heart attacks during this beast of a match. 

And when Roger was down 5-1 in that last tie break, Rafa knew this was a lost battle. He knew not because he didn't believe in Roger’s comeback abilities. But because he could see he was not feeling it today. The misses, the wides and the million balls dumped into the net just wasn't usual for Roger. Whether it was mental or physical he couldn't tell but there was something. 

Rafa sighed. And paused the highlights reel which was on for the millionth time already. He just couldn't believe it. He kept watching the highlights over and over again, though he wasn't really paying much attention now. 

He picked his phone up again and called Roger. It rung but wasn't answered. Rafa put it back down again. Hurt was written all over Roger’s face as he accepted the runner-up trophy. You could see it, clear as day. The little outbursts, so uncharacteristic of his usual cool, were also somewhat worrying. Rafa needed to talk to Roger once but he was upset. And Roger liked to be left alone when he's upset. He gets over the losses fairly quickly but till then he appreciates some peace. So it wasn't a surprise that he wasn't responding to Rafa’s calls and texts. He probably wasn't responding to anyone's right now. He would try again tomorrow, Rafa reckoned. He glanced back at the telly. This was pretty useless actually, just watching the highlights over and over. It did nothing to make him feel better. He switched off the telly and wandered off to his bed. 

He only checked his phone a hundred more times to see if Roger had texted back. He dozed off waiting. 

\---

Next thing he knew it was morning. Bright as always. Beautiful as ever. The clock on the nightstand told him it was 11. 11? Flipping hell. He sat up, stretching and yawning and wincing when he stretched his hip a bit too much. He was getting there. But he had to be careful still. 

But more than that he needed to be out of bed. He hopped in and out of the shower in a haste, stuffed his breakfast as fast as he could and darted off to training. Carlos would be furious. His uncle, had he been on the team still, would've hanged him by now. Two hours late was not acceptable. 

He checked his phone in the car. He wasn't driving yet so he let the chauffeur, Jose, take him around. Twelve missed calls. Eight messages. His team. But none from Roger. 

Rafa called Roger again. This time it went straight to answering. He didn't know what to say so he hung up. He filled his cheeks with air and puffed it out again. No getting around Roger’s stubbornness he supposed. 

Training was okay. Nothing new. Nothing unusual. He guessed that was a good sign. Going back home wasn't an exciting prospect but he had nowhere else to go on a Monday evening. So he reluctantly agreed when Jose asked if he wanted to go home. They had already roamed around half the city on Rafa’s whim and raided at least ten different shops, buying useless stuff which even he knew he was never going to use. By next week, he wouldn't be surprised to find all of it in a charity bag for a local charity shop. Oh well, at least someone would benefit from his impulsive-self-indulging buying. 

He got home and it was already getting darker, his phone told him it was 6 in the evening. He opened the boot and got the stuff out. He asked Jose if he wanted anything from it, who very politely declined. 

Self-respect, Rafa reckoned. He liked the man for that very much. He gave him a gracious smile and a thank you before fumbling with the lock on his door. The door opened with a soft click. 

Rafa stepped in and closed it with his leg, hands too full to do anything else. 

“Rafa?” 

Rafa screeched and slipped and almost fell, the bags flying all around him. 

He stared wide eyed at Roger. He blinked a few times and looked around. What the hell? How? Just what? 

All Roger offered was a small shrug though, “had two days off and a private jet so... leaving early morning” 

Still Rafa glared. “Twelve hours? You come all the way here, waste *twelve hours* of your time?” 

Something flashed on Roger’s face but it was gone before Rafa could pin it. He smiled a sad smile. “Yeah, because it's a waste of time to come to meet you, right?” 

He turned around and walked up the stairs to Rafa’s bedroom and closed the door softly. 

Rafa looked at the closed door and gaped. What?  
He made his way to the kitchen and gulped down a glass of cold water. Then sighed. Roger came all the way here, just to meet him, and the first thing he does is upset him. He was clearly already upset by the loss. And Rafa just turned him away. Rafa frowned at his own stupidity. Big time idiot. 

He shook his head. He had to make up for that now. He rummaged through the cupboards and found what he wanted. Then he spent the next five minutes making it. When he was happy, he took it upstairs. 

He opened the door gently. The room was dark, the only light coming from the passage way behind him. He could see Roger on his side of the bed, faced away from the door. He didn't switch on the main light. Instead he padded to the night lamp and flicked it on. It was a nice soft glow. He saw Roger’s bag in the corner. It was only a small bag. Roger was definitely planning on no more than a night. 

He undressed and got in the bed with Roger, nudging him slightly. 

“What?” Roger’s voice sounded a bit cracked. Was he crying? Ok, Rafa had probably screwed this more than he thought. 

“I sorry Rogi. I no expect you no? So I, how you say, fuck out?” 

He heard a gentle chuckle from the other side. “*Freak* out.” 

Rafa grinned. Roger loved Rafa’s English mistakes. He just adored them. Rafa knew that. He wasn't above using them as a weapon if he wanted something or was asking for an apology, like now. It worked as well as pouting. And it cheered Roger up, every time. 

“Can I see you or you gonna put extra cost for that?” 

He heard a half-hearted groan, mixed with a chuckle, and Roger sat up, leaning against the headboard now. Same as Rafa. 

Rafa leaned in and kissed him. “I got hot chocolate no? With Lindor chocolates” 

Roger’s face lit up like a little kid as Rafa offered him the mug. He took it eagerly and took a few sips, closing his eyes and relishing the taste. Rafa tried his best to suppress a grin. 

“What are you grinning at? Thank you for this by the way” he took another sip. 

Rafa shook his head, watching Roger drink from the mug. His adam's apple moving up and down as he drank. It was a mesmerizing sight. A rhythm. Before Rafa knew it, Roger had finished the whole thing and handed him back the mug. Rafa looked at the mug and back at Roger and frowned. 

“You not eat anything after the plane?” 

“Not much. I ate on the plane and later I was just bored.” Roger shrugged. 

“What time you leave there?” 

“I left after the media stuff, slept on the plane then had breakfast, or whatever, on the plane. Came here about two hours ago. Wanted to surprise you” 

“Aww Rogi. You did surprise me though!” 

They both grinned at that. Roger shifted closer and rested his head on Rafa’s chest. His hand snaking around him. Rafa pulled him in closer and just let him be. It had been a long few days for him, he knew. He ran his fingers through Roger’s hair and felt the soft strands slipping between his fingers. Roger’s stubble tickled him where his face rested but he didn't bother readjusting. He let Roger be. 

It felt like hours before Roger stirred again and sat up. Rafa looked at him. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“I think I be good till clay season. We hoping so. Let's see. A match will tell no?” 

Roger hummed his response and put his head back down where it was. 

Rafa continued, “but the hip is-” 

“No Raf. No details please.” 

“But Rogi-” 

“No. You were right before. I shouldn't be knowing too much. Once I know, no matter how much I try to block it out, I'll still know it. And that in itself is a disadvantage for you.” 

“You still annoyed about it?” 

“No Raf, I'm not annoyed.” 

Roger looked up and smiled sweetly. A genuine smile. He leaned in and kissed Rafa. 

“Can't be annoyed with you for too long, ever” he whispered, parting for a second, before leaning in again and sealing off the matter.

Rafa let Roger’s tongue in. It explored his mouth in the most gentle of ways. Roger took his time, swiping his tongue over Rafa’s teeth, then his cheek, then his tongue. The taste of hot chocolate lingered between them, its sweetness an intoxicating invite. 

They parted, breathing harshly. Their eyes met again, Roger’s eyes darker and diluted with naked lust. Rafa almost moaned at the sight that Roger was. He grabbed Roger’s hair, a little roughly, and Roger let his head fall back, moaning at the sensation, exposing his neck to Rafa. Rafa took full advantage of that, and nibbled on Roger’s sun kissed skin. Tongue and suction and a hint of teeth. He swiped the end of his tongue over Roger’s adam’s apple. Roger pushed into the touch, small delicious moans slipping from his mouth. 

“Rafa”

Rafa kisses under Roger’s chin, the beard scratching him but god, that was hot. The scratch was perfect on his lips. And he did it again and again, turning himself on.

Raf,” Roger’s breathless tone brought him back.

“Si?”

“Can you, god, are you able to, your hip...”

Roger was hard, grinding into his thigh with some force. Hell, Rafa was hard himself.

“Um, thrusting not good..”

Roger nodded, understanding. And pulled himself back. He leaned to the nightstand drawer and got the lube out.

“Me on top fine?” 

Rafa nodded eagerly. 

Roger gestured Rafa to lie down and propped a few pillows under him. Then he moved up his body and began placing small kisses on his chest. Rafa closed his eyes and allowed himself to melt into the touch. 

Roger’s kisses turned wet and aroused by the second. The scratch from his shadow was a huge contrast to his supple lips and it only made Rafa hotter. He leaned into the sensation, pushing into Roger, urging him. Roger’s lips found their way to his nipple and he flicked it with his tongue, causing a low groan to escape from Rafa. He traced his tongue upwards still, to his neck and bit down, not hard enough to bruise but hard enough for him to feel the burn, and Rafa almost screamed through gritted teeth.

“Roger...”

Roger moved up to kiss him and Rafa met him eagerly. Tongues duelling frantically between them. Not breaking the kiss, Roger’s hand traced down Rafa’s side and dipped lower. It disappeared for a second and the lack of contact ached. When it came back, Roger’s figures were lubed. He circled them around Rafa’s hole and Rafa moaned into the kiss, pushing against the fingers.

Roger took his time though. It had been ages since they last did this and he wanted to it feel good. He took his time rimming, and pushing his fingers in and out of Rafa, stretching him. He took everything deliciously slow and Rafa was almost an inch from begging when he finally slid into him.

Rafa’s hands splayed on Roger’s back and he met him mid-thrust on every thrust.

“Faster!”

He heard Roger grunt and pick up pace. And then there was nothing else. Nothing else apart from the slapping of skin on skin. Nothing else apart from Roger’s moans and gasps. Nothing else apart from the feeling of being full. The room filled with their noises and in a small part of his mind, he thought he heard the bed creak. But really he didn't care.

He pushed back without abandon and their pace turned frantic. Roger’s rhythm completely gone as he thrusted frantically. The need for release a mounting pressure now. 

A careless roll of Roger’s hips caught him just right and Rafa arched off, clawing at Roger’s back, heels on his ass digging in, holding him down. He came with a sob of Roger’s name and the clench was just enough for Roger to follow close. He pounded hard into him a few times before his body took over, releasing the tension. He muffled a scream into Rafa’s neck before collapsing on him. 

They stayed like that for some time before Roger rolled off. None of them had enough energy to clean off right now so they didn't both. 

Rafa spooned Roger as he lied back down. Sweat clinging to both of them, making them stick together. But neither cared.

“I wanted to win Rafa”

“I know Rogi, I know”

Because he did know. This loss hurt. It hurt. Plain and simple. 

Roger snuggled further into Rafa and Rafa tightened his grip around him. Every now and then Roger needed to feel like he belonged somewhere, the need for emotional comfort showed up every once in a while especially after losses like this, and Rafa was never going to deny him that.

He placed a lingering kiss into the back of Roger’s neck and let his head fall back on the pillow. For the first time in weeks, this place felt like home again.


End file.
